


I lead you back to this world

by blue_spruce



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 09:28:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17826173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_spruce/pseuds/blue_spruce
Summary: He listens to Sam breathe and squints into the brightness, remembering in white-hot flashes. An assassination in the ‘60’s. A child screaming. Running through cornfields with a rifle in his hands.





	I lead you back to this world

The closer they get, the more Bucky’s reservations grow. He stares out the window of Sam’s car at the fields of soybeans and corn, dusty green rolling out into the distance, and tells himself it’s going to be fine. 

His breath is steady. His hands are folded in his lap. His mouth is cotton dry, but that tell is one you can’t see. 

They turn off onto a smaller road. “Twenty minutes or so from here,” Sam says into the silence. Bucky shifts in his seat. 

It’s going to be fine. 

“Stop the car,” Bucky says, low. He has the door open before they’ve slowed to a stop, scrambling out into the weedy strip of grass next to the road. It’s hot out in the sun without the air conditioning blasting. The car engine shuts off, and the sudden lack of sound settles into his ears. 

Sam gives Bucky a minute before he follows him out of the car, crossing in front and coming around to lean back against the passenger side door. “What’s goin’ on up there?” he asks, mildly.

Bucky shakes his head once, a tiny motion that could mean almost anything. This is a bad idea, he knows it; meeting Sam’s family adds a hundred new vulnerabilities. Infinite new ways to make him hurt. Or worse: to make Sam hurt. Even the thought has his chest aching, an unfamiliar sort of pain that makes it hard to think. 

“This is a bad idea,” Bucky rasps, drawing his flesh hand over his face, closing his eyes, trying to clear his mind and  _ think _ . 

“Come here,” Sam says. Bucky lets out a breath and opens his eyes. Sam is looking at him steadily, the expression on his face unsmiling but somehow still warm. Bucky steps closer, and then again, until he’s close enough for Sam to slip a finger through the belt loops in his black jeans. 

Sam is still looking at him, a look that seems to search him down to the core. Bucky drops his gaze, his eyes catching for a moment on Sam’s mouth, and then down, down to the hollow of his neck, the muscle of his chest, then down at his feet. “You know what,” Sam says, as Bucky stares at the ground, “yeah. Yeah, it is, and we both know why. I’m not gonna pretend otherwise.” His voice is getting sharp. “But sometimes there aren’t any good ideas. Sometimes you have to choose the least bad option.” 

A few trucks rumble loudly past, blowing Bucky’s hair back from his face. “It’s dangerous,” Bucky says, finally. An elegant understatement.

Sam sighs, and Bucky raises his gaze back to Sam’s face. “Anyone who wanted to hurt me would already be able to find them if they really tried.” The liquid dark of his eyes makes that ache in Bucky’s chest worse.

It occurs to Bucky to wonder if maybe this thought is the cause of some of Sam’s nightmares. He tucks it away to think about later, his mind catching on something else. “Not just that,” he says. Sam’s fingers are still caught in his belt loops. The casual closeness burns. That Sam wants this with him–– “Me,” he says, and his eyes slide sideways, looking over Sam’s shoulder, over across the highway, squinting a little into the afternoon sun. 

Sam’s breathing is steady, but Bucky knows this doesn’t really mean anything. Sam has impressive control over his body. He listens to Sam breathe and squints into the brightness, remembering in white-hot flashes. An assassination in the ‘60’s. A child screaming. Running through cornfields with a rifle in his hands.

“Yeah,” Sam says. “Well, like I said. Anyone who wanted to hurt me would already be able to find them if they really tried.”

Bucky swallows, and then Sam’s fingers are warm against his chin. “I wouldn’t,” Bucky says with the whole weight of his conviction in the words; “I won’t,” he says, softer, trying to memorize how it feels to be staring at Sam right in this moment, handed something so valuable and so fragile with so much trust, trying to burn the reality of it into his mind deep enough that no one will ever be able to pull the memory out. 

“I know,” Sam says, and his hand is sliding from Bucky’s chin to the back of his head, pulling Bucky to him, close enough to kill him; close enough to kiss. 

  
  


Sam parks at the very bottom of the long driveway at his Nana’s house. He takes the key out of the ignition and looks over at the passenger seat. Bucky’s face is totally blank. 

“Okay?” he asks.

Bucky pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth, worrying the skin for a second before he answers. “Yeah.”

Once, a long time ago, the Winter Soldier had knocked him out of the sky. Sam had joked about it on their third date.  _ You know, someday someone’s gonna ask how we met. _

Bucky hadn’t been amused.

It still shocks Sam sometimes, out of nowhere. He’ll look up from his laptop and see Bucky standing at the bookshelf, head cocked; or catch Bucky’s easy grace out of the corner of his eye while making dinner; or hear Bucky’s breathing when Sam wakes in the night: the strange reality of the ordinary smacking him in the face. 

It shocks him now, when Bucky shakes his head once, quick and sharp, and turns to face him, reaching up with his right hand to catch Sam’s chin. 

“Steve told me I was always good with the parents,” he says, and Sam is startled into an almost-laugh, a little breath of amusement. “I figure it’s the same skill set.”

He darts in and presses a kiss to Sam’s mouth, and then a second one, more lingering.

“Charmer,” Sam says as he pulls away. 

Bucky’s expression doesn’t really change, but his eyes are smiling.

 

Sam doesn’t even have time to hug his Nana hello before his nephew strikes.

“Wow,” Jody shouts, brimming with enthusiasm, “Adri, look! A metal arm!”

Adriana, always quieter than her brother, is hanging back from the doorway, but her eyes are wide. 

Sam winces, trying to figure out what to say, but Bucky beats him to it. “Cool, huh?” he asks, crouching down on his haunches. “You wanna touch it?” 

“Yeah,” Jody breathes. His hands look tiny against the smooth metal arm. “I bet you’re really good at football, huh.”

Bucky glances up at Sam, his eyes suspiciously bright. “I don’t know,” he says, “I guess we’ll have to find out.”


End file.
